


third wheel

by PikaCheeka



Category: DRAMAtical Murder (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Lots of UST, M/M, Multi, Outside Observer, Prostitution, Yakuza, but it's really a straight-up ViTri fic, references to threesomes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 19:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10951578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PikaCheeka/pseuds/PikaCheeka
Summary: Sometimes Trip drives call girls around for the Yakuza. Sometimes they take an interest in his relationship with Virus. Sometimes he's honest.





	third wheel

**Author's Note:**

> This is a quick little light-hearted piece in lieu of some of the darker fics I've posted recently. It's another "outsider looking in" fic, this time with a call girl working for the Yakuza marveling at how weird they are. There's no real substance to it, but I hope everyone enjoys it anyway!
> 
> I also wanted to say a very big THANK YOU! to the several people in recent weeks who have gone through and kudos-ed all of my ViTri fics, as well as my new followers. You know who you are. Seeing new names go through many of my fics in a short period is really encouraging.

 

He's waiting for me when I step out of the elevator, arm extended so that I might slip my hand into it and let him guide me through the lobby and down the steps to the car. Most drivers don't do that, don't actually go inside and pick the girl up, though I figure it's better to assume he'd only gone inside because of the cigarette vending machine by the front desk than it is to think he came in because of me. We all know better than that, but we all still get excited when we hear that one or both of them is on duty driving the Yakuza’s call girls around that night.

Trip's in the car, driver's seat pushed back so far he's practically lying down, thumbing through a burner phone, probably playing a stupid game or watching porn, which he does in public more than seems wise. Last week he'd bluntly said while he was waiting, he'd watched a lesbian sex video where they both had their periods, and it wasn't as bloody as he'd thought it'd be. He'd sounded disappointed. At least he’s less likely to say that kind of thing when Virus is there, but only because Virus talks too much and too fast for him to get much in. But as soon as Trip sees him he sits up and grins and pushes the button to flip open both our doors.

"Hope he wasn't old like this fuck," he says smoothly, gesturing towards Virus, who slaps his hand down in such a way that his fingers linger. They look good together, even if the way they always match each other is a little offputting and fetishy. Nobody can tell Virus is older than him by six or seven years because he’s got a young face and he’s smaller, trimmer but not much shorter. He’s also a lot more polite and a lot less weird, though maybe he just hides it better, because I have caught him talking to himself sometimes. I sometimes think they just watched a lot of videos online about how to behave like normal humans and they rolled with whatever rubbish they found. Regardless, they’re everyone’s favorite drivers.

"He said forty-nine," I shrug.

"Gross," Trip mutters, but Virus only nods.

"At least he could still get it up at that age. It's gotta be a bitch when they can't. Hey, stop by the conbini before dropping her off. I need a drink. And for you?" The last words directed at me again as he looks over the back of his seat and winks, a flicker of long lashes beneath his glasses as he rests his hand on Trip's shoulder. I can see the younger man lean into his touch, as if he’s starved for it.

"Just an Asahi. And a bag of caramel corn, the maple flavor." They always buy for us girls, and never seem to expect much back, probably 'cause they know we all like having sex with them and will happily let them do what they want for next to nothing. Usually just alcohol, candy, drugs, sometimes new panties or a bra, but then there was Mirai.  

Just last month a girl had needed an abortion, one that Virus had paid for even though there was no reason for it. Everyone knows he and Trip can't knock anyone up; it's one of the reasons they are so often the drivers, though Trip does it way more than Virus, either because he likes the benefits better – Virus seems to like rolling with classier girls – or because he's scarier when something goes wrong and he's got to step in. They got vasectomies and every vaccine under the sun, even the ones that aren't available to the public, though it's not really clear why they got them, as if they were special medical cases or something. I never wanted to ask too much after I’d heard what Virus did to someone who touched a scar on the back of his neck. What matters is they're safe that way, even if they fuck almost every girl they give a ride to, there's never going to be any consequences for it except maybe a client might complain that she was a little used by the time he got to her, in which case Trip has no problem exchanging a few words and flexing a few muscles that most fat old men who hire us could never hope to have. I'd had sex with him three times now, always a hurried affair in the car, him gently but forcefully pushing my hands away, holding my wrists down every time I tried to touch him, undress him, because as much as he loves fucking women the only hands he seems to like all over him are Virus'.

It'd been a day like today, with both of them in the car, when she found out, and she just bluntly told them she was two months pregnant in the back seat of the car while they passed a joint around in traffic. Trip had tried to say something, but it came out a mumble and she couldn't hear. Virus had cut in then, said she could sell the baby to Toue's Institute. He'd laughed. Trip hadn't. Trip had only glared at him, and she said for a few seconds there she'd been afraid they'd fight, if they was anyone else who didn't have the kind of weird bond they had, there'd have been gunfire. I think a smarter girl'd have jumped out of the car run, but Mirai was dumb enough to get pregnant so there's not much you could say there. And then Virus had realized, because she said what happened next was that he told her to get an abortion and had quickly forked over more than enough cash for it. It's better that way, he'd said, don't try to keep it and you can't do shit with it otherwise, you're a stupid teenage slut, and then Trip had abruptly wondered aloud if sex with a pregnant woman was different, as if they hadn’t been about to kill each other. So Mirai had spent the night between the two of them in a love hotel and the morning between the two of them in a waiting room to get rid of what was inside of her, feeling like a third wheel somehow the whole time despite being in the middle. Pregnant sex wasn't any different, at least not at that point, all three of them concurred later, though I guess Trip had been notably disappointed. I was a little jealous then, because I'd only ever been with him, who was good enough, but not Virus, and the thought of both at once was divine, better than the lottery.

I sometimes think about just asking sometime but I never do, because something about Virus' smile makes me numb. He's too pretty for me to get the words out. There's a lot of talk about Virus, about what he does for extra money, about shit that happened to him when he was little, about videos you could find of him online. I'd never wanted to look. Some girls call him competition, but I don't like thinking about him on his knees in public bathrooms even if he doesn't bat an eye at me hooking up with someone three times my age for a little cash.

There are rumors about them, too, the both of them together. Rumors that they're brothers, that they're lovers, that they're both, and they either don't know they're related or they just don't care. Even the other guys in the Yakuza gossip about them sometimes, the only two foreigners allowed in the ranks, because they’re so damn weird together.

The funny thing about Trip is he talks to girls, not much but more than he talks to boys. I'd asked him once why he seemed more comfortable around women, and he'd said he'd been raised not by a mom but by a bunch of Yankis who found him in a coin locker and decided to keep him as a gang pet until he got to be too much of a hassle, said he grew up with fifteen-year-old derelict girls practicing makeup on him while teaching him how to rob stores. It seemed crazy, but he's so deadpan most of the time it's hard to know. Virus, he don't bother lying, but Trip lies more than he tells the truth, though I never figured out why because it's not like he cares what anyone thinks. He seems to just say whatever pops in his head, whether it's real or not, and doesn’t seem particularly concerned about the consequences because the only person that matters to him is Virus, who must be able to tell the difference by now.

He pulls into the parking lot too hard, across three spaces, like anyone's going to say anything to him, and Virus is rolling out the door with an extra pat to his shoulder and the rustling of bills he slips from his pocket. Trip watches him go, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

I ask him before I can stop myself then, "Did you ever have sex with him? Just him?" because that way he looked after Virus just now was the way he looks at him all the time, and I've seen the way they touched each other. I knew the stories that went around about the way they behaved in threesomes.

He just looks confused at the notion, an animal caught in headlights before he sighs and shrugs and finally says, "Yea, once, a long time ago. I don't think Virus remembers. Dya remember the night of the last earthquake?" The words are stilted, disconnected.

There'd been a few bad ones the last decade. We're on a fault, even worse than the rest of Japan, so there's nothing to be done about it. There's a reason why houses here were so cheap until Toue bought the place up. The last bad earthquake, the one he was talking about, was four years ago, one that came with a tsunami that wiped out almost a quarter of the old district, left it a dead zone that nobody goes into anymore except to try and loot whatever might still be there. There'd been a panic then, with every store on the island sold out of fresh water. Food shortages. No gas at the gas stations. The ferry was cut off. Toue owned the airport so only the rich people could leave. It'd been bad there, for a few weeks, so yea, I remembered it well enough.

They'd been taking drugs when it had hit, experimental uppers. I knew the drug, something like the mescaline sold in the United States but not quite, and evidently the earthquake and resulting news reports were even more alarming when high. Virus had been convinced it was the end days, and he'd wanted to have sex one last time, so he'd let Trip fuck him. It was the best he could manage under the circumstances. Trip laughs when he says that, but he sounds pissed, maybe even sad. It's hard to know with him.

"I doubt he remembers. He didn't say anything the next morning. Never said anything ever. Sometimes he jokes, says it'd be funny if we had sex, like we haven't done it already," he taps the wheel lazily.

"Are you shitting me?"

"Nope," but I can’t know. Like I said, he just says whatever is in his head. The way he looks at Virus, he fantasizes about him a lot, so he must have a lot of stories filed away in there, a lot of crazy first-times he's run through so often he can spit them out like honesty.

"How did he not notice he was all nasty when he woke up?"

He shrugs. "We got in the hot tub after, then just drank until we passed out."

"You take baths together a lot?"

"Uh huh. 'Skind of a small tub so I get to touch him a lot. Get between his legs," he grins at that and I try not to imagine it. He’s like a kid, somehow.

"But that was it, never again? Was it good at least?"

"I was fucked up, too. But I think...even bad sex with him'd be pretty good," if he was lying before, at least that bit sounds like the truth.

"You like him that way?"

That seems to throw him off, and there’s a long pause before he opens his mouth again. "I..."

At that moment Virus returns, swinging the bag in one hand and lighting a cigarette with the other. He's in the car in one fluid motion, lean and lanky as he curls into the passenger seat and opens the bag. It feels naughty somehow, taking the beer from him, even worse than what I'd just done in the hotel. I'm sure they never check _his_ identification when he buys alcohol, after all.

"Only had the purple flavor. What even is that?" he holds it up between his thumb and forefinger as if it were a dead rat.

"You can read," I try not to pout as I snatch the bag from him. Anything was better than the purple one, and I talk fast before I can stop myself, embarrassed that he walked in just as I'd been asking Trip about him. "You should make it up to me."

"Oh yea?" He narrows his eyes. "What were you guys talking about anyway?"

"Nothing," we both say immediately.

"Huh," he exhales. "Trip, you're blushing, you know. Mmm, do you like her? She’s more of my type… Did I interrupt something between you two?" It's as if I'm not there, suddenly, as he runs his hand down Trip's thigh and leans across the seat to whisper something in his ear, and I want to laugh at how clueless he is until he turns to look at me. "You got anywhere else to be tonight? You could hang with us."

“Are you asking me to third-wheel?” I curse myself even as the words spill out, but I’m still thinking about the sub-par purple bag and how he could have done better.

“Huh?” Virus asks pleasantly, and I know then that he didn’t even notice what I’d said, what it meant, but Trip’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

“Yea, I’ll hang out with you guys.”

“Mm, good. Trip and I haven’t had sex in a while.” He pats his leg.

I open my mouth to ask what he means by that, if he means that he remembers after all or if he just worded his comment about how he and Trip haven’t had a threesome in a few weeks poorly because he’s oblivious, but suddenly all of us are cringing at the screech of tires and the blaring of automobile horns as Trip runs a red light and violently jerks the wheel to miss another car. He’s remarkably calm during all of it, though I know with him it’s only a matter of how close his rage is to the surface.

“You be quiet,” he says then, jerking his chin towards the rear view mirror in such a way I know he’s talking to me, and I know then that what he’d said earlier, about that night four years ago, was at least not entirely a lie.

Virus glances at him and raises an eyebrow. “Must have been some _nothing_.” But it’s clear he’s not taking it any further, as if he knows and just isn’t sure how to talk about it, as if he remembers that night a whole lot better than he’d ever let on, and he just settles for asking girls to hook up for threesomes because he isn’t prepared for what else lies between them. It’s not a bad arrangement, after all.

 


End file.
